


Mystrade: Untitled

by the23rdspectacledone



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the23rdspectacledone/pseuds/the23rdspectacledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is as it’s title says: it is untitled. As in, I have no bloody idea on what to call this fic. And I can’t actually remember why I made this in the first place. Enjoy!</p>
<p>[Btw, any name suggestion is highly appreciated!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystrade: Untitled

_“. . .And fare thee weel, my only Luve,_

_And fare thee weel a while!_

_And I will come again, my Luve,_

_Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile!”_

_-A Red, Red Rose_ (Robert Burns)

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg was just fifteen when he and his family moved in to their new house down at Greenwich Village near the Thames, and he was already dreading the neighbourhood. Yes, it was still inside London, but it was the _suburbs._ The quiet, peaceful suburbs.  His mum and dad loved it, though. They kept on raving about how the neighbours were so kind –but all Greg saw were posh gits with sticks so far up their arses, they needed to see a doctor. Especially that lady his mum was so keen on having tea with lately. Amelia Holmes, he thinks her name was.

He was so used to the noise of the city life that he could barely get a wink of sleep because of the quiet. It was unsettling. To add to the fact of the eerie calm, was the window _literally_ only a meter and a half away from his. He could easily ignore it, except his bed was backed up against that window, so he couldn’t help but notice it. He could actually just climb out and walk right up to it; which he did –except he didn’t really walk up to it, just stayed on the awnings connecting their windows when he needed to think. And though the curtains to that window were always shut, and it seemed that no one was ever in that room, Greg was still uneasy about it.

Well. He didn’t actually mind talking to whoever was living behind that window, but he started minding when he found out that that was Amelia Holmes’s house. Whoever lived in that room must be just as annoying as her.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was supposed to be one of those regular weekends where he could lounge around his room, have a break from working in his father’s restaurant, blast out some music, and just _relax_. But he couldn’t relax. Not now. Not when, after a month of living in the new house, the curtains of the window outside of his were finally drawn. Curiosity was definitely driving him to just climb out and _look_. He shrugged when the urge hit him. ‘ _It’s no big deal’_ , he told himself. _‘Just a bloody window. No big deal.’_

He sprawled out on his bed, his hand tapping on his chest as he matched the beat of the bass drum. He was starting to forget about his curiosity about the other window by the time “ _Mama”_ started to play in his stereo, when–

“Um…excuse me?”

Greg’s head abruptly turned to the side, staring out, eyes widening when he saw a tall, chubby, auburn-haired boy –probably a year or two younger than him- peeking out from the other window. He sat up slowly, still not saying anything, still staring out. He didn’t really expect someone to be there.

“Um…” the other boy mumbled, “Do you mind turning it down a bit…?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure.” Greg said absently, standing up from his bed and going over to the stereo to turn the volume down. When he looked back at the other boy, he was watching him.

The taller boy gave him a polite smile. Obviously forced. “Thank you,” he said, and then disappeared back into the room.

Greg stared blankly at the other window, still wondering about the boy he just saw. Tall. Pale. Freckled. A bit of a ginger. Icy-blue eyes. Posh.  _‘Must be Mrs. Holmes’ son, then.’_ Greg thought to himself. And after a few more seconds of staring at the window, his curiosity couldn’t be shrugged off any longer.

He climbed out, crawled on the awnings connecting their windows, and peeked into the younger boy’s room. It was exactly what he expected from someone related to Mrs. Holmes. His bed was backed up against the window, just like his, but one wall was covered in books of all sorts, a desk on the far wall -just right beside the door-, and a walk-in closet on the other wall.

Greg wasn’t all that bothered about the amount of books the boy had, or the walk-in closet; he was bothered that he couldn’t see him _anywhere_. He could’ve gone out, but he didn’t really hear the door close.

He was about to go back to his room, when the younger boy reappeared in the room, a red and black Stratocaster in his left hand, and an amplifier in the other. He had a cigarette between his lips. A bloody _cigarette_. Greg froze in place when the auburn-haired boy spotted him, eyes narrowing.

“Is it a hobby of yours to look at a stranger’s room?” he said, a bit of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“I…I was just-”

“Curious?”

“Yes,” Greg admitted, clearing his throat, “Sorry.”

The other boy shook his head, “Don’t be.” He put down the guitar and amplifier before walking over to the window, kneeling on his bed so he was nearly eye-level with Greg. He stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill before extending his arm out toward Greg, smiling. “Mycroft Holmes. And you?”

“Greg,” he said hesitantly, taking Mycroft’s hand and giving it a firm shake before letting it go. “Greg Lestrade.” His eyes shifted over the younger boy’s shoulder to the guitar and amp, down to the put out cigarette on the windowsill, and then back up to him. He blushed slightly when he realised he was staring. “So,” he murmured, “You, uh, you play…?” he nodded toward the guitar, choosing not to mention the cigarette.

“Yes. Though I’d prefer it if my skills on the guitar are kept secret. My smoking habit as well,” Mycroft said, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Greg quirked his brow, climbing up to sit on Mycroft’s windowsill, curiosity piqued. It was probably rude of him to ask, considering they’ve just met, but he couldn’t help it. “You don’t mind me asking why?”

“Why what?”

“Well…I understand the smoking thing,” Greg said hesitantly, “But the guitar, though? Why keep that a secret…?”

Mycroft looked at Greg for a moment, appearing to think, and then shook his head. “None of my family knows I play. Well. Except for my baby brother. He knows _everything,_ ” he chuckled softly before settling a bit more comfortably on the bed and continuing, “Father and Mother aren’t so keen on…these kinds of things.”

“An electric guitar?” Greg scoffed, “I don’t see why they’d be cross about that.”

“Well…” he hummed, “It’s not just the guitar, as you obviously know,” he pulled out a box of cigarettes from his pocket and a bottle of whiskey from under his bed. He smirked a bit at the look of surprise on Greg’s face –not at the cigarettes, though, but at the fucking _whiskey_. “I’d rather have them believe I’m a good boy.”

A grin formed on Greg’s lips. “Well,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he got over his surprise, “Never really expected a kid from a posh family like yours would be a bit of a rebel. That’s pretty punk rock of you,” he grinned broadly at the younger man.

At Greg’s words, Mycroft’s cheeks pinked a little, and he lowered his head to hide his blush. “I…I see.” he cleared his throat, clearly flustered, and Greg was definitely amused.

They both stayed silent for a few seconds before Greg heard his mum calling him from downstairs. He looked up at Mycroft again and flashed him a smile. “I’ve got to go,” he mumbled, hopping down from the windowsill. He grinned, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mycroft.”

A warm sort of smile formed on the younger boy’s face, Greg trying to ignore the slight tug in his stomach. He nodded, “You as well, Gregory.”

That wasn’t the last time they talked.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was two months after he met Mycroft that he found himself in a horrible situation. He doesn’t know how he got roped into this, but here he is. Having tea with his mum and Amelia Holmes instead of working out front in the restaurant. _‘Kill me now,’_ he thought, trying to seem as polite as possible without being sarcastic.

“What is it like, Gregory?” he looked up when he was addressed, “Working alongside your father?” Mrs. Holmes asked as she took a sip of her tea, pointedly looking at him.

“Uh…yeah. It’s great, I guess…”

“’I _guess_ ’? You are unsure?”

Greg glanced at his mum, pleading with his eyes to let him go. Jean Lestrade was a nice woman most of the time. A great mum, to be in fact. But when it came to fucking with Greg, she was the best at that.

“Why, Gregory!” she said, a smirk ghosting her lips, “You’re not enjoying working with your father? Should I tell him?”

“I-I didn’t say anything lik-” he was cut off by the sound of the doorbell, relief washing over him when he saw the chance to escape. “I’ll get that.”

Before his mum could protest, he was already up and out of his chair, rushing off to the foyer to open the door. Who he saw wasn’t what he expected, especially since he hasn’t seen him for a month now.

Standing outside the door was Mycroft, looking as clean and pristine as the last time he saw him. But he obviously lost a little bit of weight. And the only way Greg could describe the smile he was wearing was…strangely attractive. And a little bit forced.

“Good evening, Gregory,” the taller boy said a bit blankly. “I’ve heard that my mother is here…?”

Greg nodded slowly, standing aside and gesturing for the boy to come in. Though he was a bit bothered that Mycroft was acting cold toward him, despite the fact that they’ve been hanging out in each other’s rooms a few times, he had to hide it. “Yeah,” he said, “Just through there,” he nodded his head toward the kitchen.

“Might I come in…?”

“Alright…” Greg led him to the kitchen, occasionally glancing at Mycroft without turning his head, and then his brow quirking when he saw his mum staring at Amelia as if she was…pitying her, but immediately brightening at the sight of the younger boy.

“Oh, Mycroft,” Amelia smiled at the younger boy, before looking at Greg, “I see that you’ve met Gregory.”

Mycroft glanced at Greg, and then back to his mother. He nodded minutely, bringing back that fake smile to his face. Greg frowned at that. “Yes,” he said simply as he brought out a letter from his pocket, immediately changing the subject. “I’m just here to inform you that Sherlock’s been called to the dean’s office again. And that you are expected to be there tomorrow afternoon.”

While all this was going, Greg was trying to sneak out, but failed numerous times when he saw that his mother was still watching him intently. _‘Now that’s just cruel, Mum!’_ he said with his eyes, but Jean just responded with a smirk.

Greg was startled out of his thoughts when Mycroft turned to look at his mum. “Good evening, Mrs. Lestrade,” he turned to look at Greg, “A pleasure seeing you, Gregory.” And with that, he left, letting himself out the door, without even so much as a glance at Greg.

After that, worry started to form on the back of Greg’s mind as to why Mycroft was acting like that. He didn’t see him again for weeks.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a few months before Greg saw Mycroft again, and it wasn’t what he expected it to be.

He was just climbing out of the window to have some alone time after another hectic evening in the restaurant, but saw that the spot where he usually sat occupied by a certain auburn-haired boy.

The younger boy was definitely thinner than the last he saw him. He was actually thinner than Greg now. He was hunched over, his head between his knees, his arms tightly around his legs. If Greg didn’t know any better, he’d say he was crying.

Unsure of what to say, he slowly approached him, before hesitatingly putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey…” he mumbled quietly, “You alright there, mate…?”

When Mycroft looked up at Greg, his eyes widened at the sight. His cheeks were tear streaked, eyes red and puffy, obviously from crying. Greg hadn’t the slightest idea on how to comfort him.

“I…I am fine, Gregory…just…” his voice trailed off, gaze lowering to his feet.

They stayed silent for a few minutes, Greg still not leaving his side. He was sitting next to him now. He glanced at Mycroft every minute or so, worry growing bit by bit as the younger boy sat quietly.

After a few more minutes, Greg noticed that Mycroft was shivering. He looked at him, before standing up. “Just a sec,” he said as he climbed through his window again. When he came back, he had a blanket with him. Mycroft looked at him questioningly, but Greg just smiled.

Wrapping the blanket around Mycroft, he settled beside him again. A faint ‘thank you’ was all he heard from the younger boy.

“So…” Greg murmured, “What’s up…?”

Mycroft turned his head slightly to look at him, before his eyes lowered again. “It’s…complicated…you’d get bored hearing about it, I assure you…”

Greg shook his head. “Well. I rarely get bored about anything, to be honest.”

“You looked pretty bored when you were having tea with our mothers the last I saw you.”

“Who wouldn’t get bored after an hour of hearing about ‘oh, Mrs. Turner’s got blah blah blah’?”

A soft chuckle came out of the younger boy, and Greg grinned. “I suppose even I would get bored of that…” he smiled.

This smile wasn’t like the one Mycroft used the last time they’ve met. It was the real one. The one Greg had missed seeing. And god, it was absolutely stunning. Greg tried to push that out of his head for a while. _‘Not now.’_

“So…do you want to talk about it, then?” Greg asked softly, nudging his shoulder against Mycroft’s. He was probably acting a bit too familiar, especially since they’ve been apart for awhile, but Mycroft didn’t seem to mind. He actually seemed to like it, to be honest.

Mycroft appeared to consider Greg’s words for a minute, before letting out a resigned sigh. “Guess…I might feel better if I get it off my chest…”

“Alright,” Greg smiled warmly, “Fire away, then.”

Taking a deep breath before speaking, Mycroft started to tell about how Sherlock unravelled the mystery of why their father was rarely home for the past few months. He had a mistress in Southwark. Several mistresses, to be in fact, all across the UK. And of all the times Sherlock chose to tell them about it, it was at dinner. A few months ago. When Mycroft stopped seeing Greg. His mother was devastated, but she didn’t show it. None of them did. Amelia tried to carry on life as usual, pretending everything was alright, but they had a bit of a difficulty with that –considering that every time Siger Holmes came home, he was angry. And damn well ready to beat the shit out of Sherlock; except that Mycroft intervened every time, and he ended up getting beat instead.

“I’d rather that…I get beaten instead of Sherlock…” he mumbled, “It isn’t his fault that he’s…observant. He’s just eight…he doesn’t…doesn’t know any better…”

Greg let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when Mycroft was finished talking. He passed a hand down his face, shaking his head. It was only when Mycroft mentioned he was getting a beating daily that he started to notice the bruises on his arms that were peeking out from under his sleeves.

“Jesus…Mycroft…” he sighed, pulling the younger boy into his arms, absolutely not caring about personal space at the moment. But, to his surprise, Mycroft didn’t pull away. If anything, he was leaning into Greg. He tucked Mycroft’s head into his neck, “You could’ve told me, Myc…” he sighed, unthinkingly pressing his lips against the younger boy’s temple. “You didn’t have to go through this by yourself…”

There was a bit of a hitch in Mycroft’s breathing, but he didn’t move away. “I apologise, Gregory…” he mumbled, his voice muffled by Greg’s clothes. “I did not want to worry you…”

He pulled away from Mycroft for a moment so that he could look him in the eye. “Well you’ve already made me worry just by not letting me see you for these past few months,” he sighed softly, “I care about you, Myc.”

“But…why do you care…?” Mycroft asked quietly, “I mean…we’ve only known each other for a few months...why should you care about a total stranger…?”

Greg didn’t know the answer to that himself. In the fifteen years he has lived in the world, he’s never cared about someone so quickly like he cared about Mycroft. It was a bit weird, but he really did care for him. He couldn’t say he fancied him –because he wasn’t even sure if that was it. That was probably it, but he was pretty sure that Mycroft would stop talking to him if he said that. Probably.

“Well…” Greg looked down at his hands as he tried to formulate what he was going to say to Mycroft. And when he looked up, Mycroft was looking at him expectantly. “I wouldn’t say we’re strangers…” he tried, “We _have_ been talking to each other for a while now, so…I guess we’re not really strangers anymore.”

“What are we, then?”

That question took Greg by surprise. He wasn’t expecting Mycroft to ask that. They could be friends; they could also be acquaintances. Of course, Greg preferred to be something more, but it was a bit too early for that.

“We’re friends. Mates.” Greg grinned at Mycroft, “Well. If that’s alright with you.”

Mycroft nodded minutely, looking down at his hands to hide his blush. “Yes…” he mumbled, “It is…very much alright with me.”

A broad grin spread across Greg’s face, leaning forward as he wrapped Mycroft in his arms again. This was probably a bit too affectionate for just “friends”, but both of them didn’t mind. Not at all.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Myc!”

Mycroft looked up from his book, smiling when he saw the brunette perched on his windowsill. He sat up on his bed, crawling closer to Greg. “What is it, Gregory?”

Without hesitation, Greg climbed in through the window and sat in front of Mycroft on his bed. He grinned broadly at him before shrugging.

“Nothing,” he smiled, “Just wanted to hang out.” He shifted a bit so his back was to the wall, “What’re you reading?” he nodded his head toward the book the younger boy was holding.

The younger man glanced down at his book, flipping it over to the cover and holding it up to Greg. “ _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ ,” he grinned, “It’s absolutely brilliant. It really is. Have you read it?”

Greg nodded minutely. “Yeah,” he said, “Ending was a bit surprising. Just a bit though,” he shook his head, pouted, “Some bloke ruined it for me on the tube just as soon as the book came out,” his pout disappeared, immediately replaced by a grin, “Socked him on the jaw for that.”

“How…charming,” Mycroft shook his head, chuckling softly. He put away his book for a moment and looked at Greg when a small silence surrounded them. He noticed that the older boy had been fidgeting for a while now, as if he had something to tell Mycroft, but couldn’t find the words to verbalise it. “So, Gregory,” he ran a hand through his hair, smiling. “How was your day? Seems like you’ve got a lot to tell me.”

“Well…” Greg mumbled for a moment as he fidgeted with his thumbs, as if he was trying to stall for a while. “There’s, uh…this thing at school…” he looked up at Mycroft, only continuing to talk when he nodded. “And I was wonderin’ if you could…y’know…accompany me.”

Mycroft stared questioningly at Greg and then tilted his head. Which meant: elaborate.

Greg sighed and shook his head. “It’s a sort of fair-thingy…school fair…thingy…uh,” he cleared his throat, blushing. “I’d like it…if you’d come with me. Tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” was all Mycroft could say. Because, to be honest, he didn’t really know what to say. It’s been a while since he went to some sort of school event with someone, considering the fact that he wasn’t much interested in the people in his current school- or any other school he went to, for that matter. The only time he ever attended a school activity with someone was when he _had_ to bring someone. And that someone was, of course, Anthea –his best friend since he was probably three.

And to add to the fact that he never really went out with people, he had to go out with _Gregory_. For other people, that wouldn’t be a problem; but with Mycroft…well. Let’s just say he wouldn’t be able to stop blushing during that time.

“I…I don’t know, Gregory,” he mumbled, “I’m not really-”

“Oh, come on, Myc!” Greg whined, “Can’t a guy rely on his best mate when he needs him?”

“But-”

“Mycroft,” he shuffled closer to the younger man, taking his hands in his, looking him dead in the eye. Mycroft could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat. “I need you – _want_ you- to come with me. If not,” he sighed, putting on a serious face, fingers curling tighter around Mycroft’s, “I’ll be forced to go with the girl that’s been asking me for weeks now. I don’t want that.”

Mycroft stared blankly at Greg. “Why don’t you want to go with her?”

Greg pouted, “I don’t want to go with someone I won’t have fun with.”

Mycroft quirked a brow, smirking. “You think I’m much more fun than a potential snog?”

A bit of a blush came onto Greg’s cheeks, but he nodded. “Yes,” he grinned, “And that’s why I want you to come with me!”

Mycroft looked at Greg for a while, his eyes scanning over his boyish profile, before giving a resigned sigh. “Fine,” he murmured, “But if you get bored with me, it won’t be my fault.”

A broad grin curled on Greg’s lips before nodding. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’ll never get bored of you.”

Mycroft smiled warmly at the older boy, before clearing his throat. “So,” he mumbled, “Hang out with me for a while?”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Mycroft and Greg got home a little after midnight, both of them sneaking into their respective houses, and then meeting back at their adjoined windows. Greg was still carrying the giant teddy bear he won from one of the games, an idiotic grin still plastered to his face.

“Well,” he chuckled, placing the large teddy bear beside him as he sat down, “Told you I won’t get bored, didn’t I?”

Mycroft chuckled softly, “Yes, you did.” A warm smiled formed on Mycroft’s lips, “Thank you, Gregory.”

“For what?”

“For having me with you,” said the taller boy, a warm smile on his face that made Greg’s heart skip. “It was…fun.”

The grin that Greg was wearing widened as he crawled over to Mycroft’s side and plopped down beside him. “No need to thank me,” he sighed, leaning his back against the wall, “I wanted you to come. I should be the one thanking you.”

“No, I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

“Nuh-uhh. Should be me.”

“No. Me.”

“I said me!”

“Are we really going to argue over who should be thanking who?” Mycroft chuckled, nudging Greg’s shoulder with his, and then staying like that.

Greg shook his head, chuckling, a bit of a blush on his cheeks as he noticed that they were now leaning against each other. “Well,” he mumbled, “You’re the one who started it.”

Mycroft just laughed.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two years passed, and the two were still as close as they were. They still hanged out on the awnings or sometimes in their rooms; just listening to some music, watching movies, or talking. Though Mycroft withdrew again when his father left, Greg got him out of his rut and they started hanging out again.

Mycroft was sixteen, and Greg seventeen.

Greg just got home from school, and the first thing on his mind was hanging out with Mycroft. His father said he could take a break from helping in the restaurant, since it was exams week and all. But when the shorter teen climbed in through Mycroft’s window, he wasn’t there.

“Myc…?” he called quietly, looking around the room. When he heard some movement from the walk-in closet, he tried craning his neck to look in. “Mycroft?” he called a bit louder.

The younger teen reappeared in the room, carrying a large suitcase with him. When he saw the brunette sitting on his bed, a sort of wince flashed on his face, but disappeared as quickly as it happened.

Greg stood up and walked over to him, his brows furrowing as he saw Mycroft avoid his gaze. “Myc…what’s that…?” he asked quietly, hand hovering over Mycroft’s.

“This…” the auburn-haired teen cleared his throat, “I can explain.”

“Explain what?” Greg asked, voice trailing off. “Are…are you leaving…?”

Mycroft fell silent as soon as the words left Greg’s mouth, immediately looking down at his feet. When Greg said his name again, he let out a quiet sigh and nodded. “Yes...” he murmured, “I’m leaving.”

Those words felt like knives in Greg’s heart, his hands curling into fists on his sides. “But…why…?”

“I’m leaving for uni…I’m going to Oxford.”

Greg didn’t know how to react to that. On one hand, he was happy for Mycroft; he was more than happy –he was proud of him. He actually got into a good university at the age of sixteen. But on the other hand…he felt as if he was losing the most important thing in the world. He was losing Mycroft.

All Greg could say was, “I…um, wow.” He let out a quiet sigh, backing up until his legs hit the bed, plopping down onto it. “I’m happy for you, Myc…I really am…” he said quietly, looking down at his feet.

A gentle hand landed on Greg’s shoulder, and he looked up. Mycroft was looking down at him with that warm gaze Greg loved so much, but never told the younger teen. “I apologise, Gregory…” he said softly, fingers squeezing around Greg’s shoulder. “I do not want to leave you….”

“And I don’t want you to go,” Greg sighed, “But…it’s for your future. You’ve got to g– ”

Greg’s eyes widened when Mycroft wrapped his arms around him, his face digging into the crook of his neck. He promptly wrapped his arms around the younger teen. “Myc…?” he mumbled, traces of uncertainty in his voice.

“I’m going to miss you…”

An idiotic grin curled on Greg’s lips, but the sadness in his heart was still there. His arms tightened around Mycroft, his lips landing on top of his auburn hair. “And I’ll miss you…”

Mycroft looked up at him, his gaze warm. “I promise to come back when I’m done.”

“But…I’ll be in uni when you come back,” Greg pulled back to look at Mycroft. “How will-”

 “I’ll find you. I promise,” he smiled reassuringly, hand coming up to cup Greg’s cheek, his thumb tracing along his smooth skin. “We’ll meet again.”

Greg stared at Mycroft, his hand reaching up to rest atop Mycroft’s. He just hoped he was right.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Greg watched from their adjoined windows as Mycroft gave his goodbyes to his mother and to a crying Sherlock. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched the scene; it wasn’t often that he saw Mycroft’s mum and little brother show any affection to him. It was refreshing to actually see it once in a while.

But his smile started to fade as soon as he remembered why Sherlock was crying –Mycroft was leaving.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. Four or five years without Mycroft…how was he to survive that?

He watched as Mycroft finished loading his stuff into his Jag –even the big teddy bear Greg won two years ago and gave to Mycroft. He was staring absently now, lost in his thoughts, when he saw Mycroft look at him, a rueful smile on his face. He lifted a hand and waved, trying to seem happy for Mycroft –even though he wasn’t.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When Greg went back to his room, he was tired. He didn’t really do anything too arduous to warrant his exhaustion, but he just was.

He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling absently. Coming home from school or helping out at the restaurant won’t be so fun anymore. Not since he won’t have Mycroft to come home to.

He was starting to get more and more depressed as the minutes went by. And he just won’t have it. He stood up, climbed out of his window, and walked over to Mycroft’s.

There wasn’t supposed to be anything left in the room, but he just wanted to see. He didn’t know why either, but he just did it.

When he looked into the once lively room, it was, of course, empty –but not all that empty. Because, in the middle of the room, there was a single, red rose…and a card.

He climbed in, bending down to look at the card.

_“. . .And I will come again, my Luve,_

_Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile.”_

_-MH_

A small smile tugged at his lips.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Seventeen years.

Greg was working now –he was a DI, not a chef, despite his father’s protests- and living in the city again. Seventeen years had passed, and he never heard from the auburn-haired teenager. Though he promised that he’d look for him, and that they would see each other again, he never contacted Greg. Not even once.

He often missed Mycroft, but he was starting to forget about him as time passed. He still kept the card and the rose in a book, but he stopped paying any mind to it. But still, despite that, his head still turns every time he catches a glimpse of auburn hair, just hoping that it was Mycroft. But it never was.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A case and a half later, and Greg was just about ready to collapse. He can’t even remember the last time he went home. Becoming a chef doesn’t look so bad now.

As usual, he was crouched over his desk, multiple files scattered across his desk as he tried to find some sort of lead. Quadruple homicide. Locked rooms. A disappearing suspect. He let out a despairing sigh, leaning back against his chair and closing his eyes. He needed a break.

But that wasn’t coming anytime soon, especially since he can hear some sort of scuffle going on outside his office. He groaned inwardly as his door was wrenched open, a very much distressed Sally Donovan at the door.

“There’s some bloke that’s been snooping around our case’s crime scene,” Sally reported, “And we’ve got a feeling that this guy’s the suspect. Brought him in for questioning.”

Greg straightened in his chair and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Alrighty then,” he sighed, “Show ‘em in.”

“Um…”

“What?”

Sally looked over her shoulder, and then back at Greg. “Just a warning, Sir,” she murmured, “The bloke’s a bit high, so…” she smirked, “Good luck with that.”

“Oh, _great_ ,” he groaned, slumping in his chair. He really can’t deal with this right now.

But he immediately fell silent when the man entered the room. His eyes narrowed for a moment before widening, his mouth falling open. The man was probably in his early twenties- a bush of unruly, dark hair on his head. His skin was still as pale as he remembered it; but his eyes were blank- as if he was day dreaming. He never thought that little kid that did those crazy experiments would grow up into _this._ “ _Sherlock_?”

The man snapped to attention; cold, calculating eyes suddenly focusing on Greg.

“You know him, Sir?” she asked, a frown tugging at her lips.

Greg nodded minutely, shock still present in his features. But after a second or so, he composed himself. “He’s…a friend.”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed at the word “friend”, but he didn’t say anything, only went back to stare absently at his hands as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

When Greg dismissed Sally, and it was only him and Sherlock in the room, the younger man looked at him again, his eyes clear.

Greg swallowed thickly as Sherlock’s piercing eyes focused on him. God, he’ll never get used to the younger man’s deducing gaze. Too bloody uncomfortable.

“The gardener.”

“What?”

“The gardener’s the murderer.”

Greg stared at Sherlock, brows quirking upward. Yes, the gardener was one of the suspects, but they still couldn’t find enough evidence to make the call that he was the murderer. But most importantly, how did Sherlock know?

“How’d you-?”

“Stupid question, Lestrade.” Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, walking over to Greg’s armchair and plopping down onto it. Greg just shook his head. “It’s too bloody obvious. Yet I see that you lot have been at this case for weeks now,” he smirked, glancing at one of the case files before looking up at Greg again.

“Sherlock,” Greg sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I appreciate your interest in our case,” he mumbled, “But you can’t just waltz into a crime scene!”

“So?”

“Just… _listen_ , Sherlock!” the older man snapped, “Do you even bloody know how much trouble I’ll get into with just letting _you_ look at those files?”

Sherlock snorted. “Of course I do. But still-”

“Sherlock!” he tried to cut him off.

“-you’ll need my help if you want this case done and over with.”

And he was right. Greg knew that Sherlock would be a _tremendous_ help to the case –considering the fact that he’s been doing that deducing thing since he was a kid- but, still, he can’t just let Sherlock off the hook.

Greg stepped forward, standing in front of his desk, and crossed his arms. He heaved a heavy sigh. “Alright,” he mumbled, “I’ll let you help. _If_ ,” Greg pointed at him, “You get yourself clean. No more of this…what are you using?”

“Cocaine.”

“Ookay…” he shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. “No more of this cocaine business. Get clean, and you can help.” Sherlock had a sort of despairing expression on his face, and Greg nearly felt sorry for him. He’s been told about Sherlock’s need for stimulation of the mind when they were younger; the need for a distraction to prevent his engine-like mind to run out of control. That’s why every time Greg climbed in through Mycroft’s window he’d see him making some sort of puzzle for his little brother.

Mycroft. Now that Greg started to think about Mycroft again, he couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing. By this time, most people would say the affections that Greg felt for the younger man was gone. Even Greg thought that; but he never thought they would resurface again after just one thought of him.

When Greg saw Sherlock stand up and edge toward the door, he grabbed him behind the collar, yanking him down to sit again. “You _do_ know that you aren’t off the hook?” Greg smirked when Sherlock’s expression darkened. “You’ll have to spend the night in a cell. Well. Unless you’ve got someone to bail you out.”

At Greg’s words, Sherlock’s eyes brightened a bit, but slowly darkened again as he seemed to remember something. “Hm. I need a phone.”

Greg reached into his trousers pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here,” he said, tossing it over to Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned briefly over the phone –no doubt to deduce something about him- before he started typing. Greg kept his eyes on Sherlock as he leaned against the wall, arms still crossed over his chest.

“You’ve been trying to stop smoking for two years now,” Sherlock said suddenly, eyes scanning over Greg. “And the method you’ve been using is certainly...painful. And ineffective.”

Greg’s eyes widened a bit, before he shook his head. Sherlock was right. Again. He’s been trying to quit, and stupidly, he thought that putting out his fag ends on his knee would make him quit faster. It never worked.

He was just about to ask how Sherlock found out, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Right. Stupid question.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Since Sherlock didn’t want to go to a cell to be detained, and Greg felt a little bit bad about throwing him into one, they stayed in Greg’s office until someone bailed him out. Greg let Sherlock read some of the cold case files to make him stop whining about how bored he was, and to no surprise, he solved each in just a few minutes.

Greg gave him cold case after cold case, and all of them were solved within minutes. He was about to give him another case –something more recent- when Sally came into his office again. Her brows furrowed when she saw Sherlock with the case files, but just shrugged.

“Some bloke from the government came to bail ‘im out. Just gotta sign the release papers and he’s free to go.”

“Right,” Greg cleared his throat as he snatched the papers away from Sherlock before Sally could even think about scolding him. He paused for a moment and then looked at Sally. “Government?” he glanced at Sherlock, “You’ve got connections in the bloody _government_?”

Sherlock scoffed as he shook his head. “Of course I do,” he said, “My sad excuse for a brother practically _is_ the government.”

At the mention of the word “brother”, Greg’s head shot up, eyes wide. “Brother…” he murmured, “You mean…Mycroft, right…?” he asked quietly.

The younger man’s eyes scanned over Greg’s face for a minute, before a frown tugged at his lips. “You still fancy him?” he asked straight out and making Greg tense, a blush immediately on his cheeks. Sherlock snickered when he saw that.

“I don’t _fancy_ him!” Greg groaned, glaring at Sally when she snickered. “I just…” his voice trailed off. He just _what_? Missed him? Hated him for not coming back? Got his heart broken when he realised that Mycroft wouldn’t keep his promise?

He let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, glaring daggers at Sherlock as he started for the door. “Keep an eye on him, Donovan,” he muttered, snickering when he heard Sally protest about being left alone with the “freak”.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

He huffed as he made his way to get Sherlock’s release papers, still thinking about what he had said earlier. He didn’t… _fancy_ Mycroft anymore…right? He didn’t want to run into him right now and see how he was, right? He didn’t want to see what the auburn-haired teen grew up to look like… _right_?

He was still trying to convince himself that that was not the case by the time he got the papers, his feet absently walking back to his office, when he bumped into someone and dropped the papers.

“Ah,” he snapped out of his daze, bending down to gather the scattered papers, “I didn’t see you there,” he mumbled, “Sorry.”

“It is quite alright, Gregory,” said the man, a hint of warmness in his voice.

Greg’s brows furrowed at that. The voice was…strangely familiar. His head snapped up to look at the man, eyes dragging from the fine black leather of his shoes; to his neatly pressed, black, pin-striped suit; and then up to his icy-blue pupils. It took him a moment to realise who it was, a breath immediately catching in his throat when he did, his body freezing in place.

His eyes stared widely at the auburn-haired man as he bent down, gathering the papers that Greg hadn’t picked up yet. “These are the release papers, yes?” he asked quietly, light-blue eyes darting up to meet Greg’s.

The older man nodded dumbly, still staring at Mycroft. When he stood up, his face was flushed, his heart rate noticeably faster than it was before. He gulped audibly, and the younger man chuckled.

“It is good to see you, Gregory,” Mycroft offered him a warm smile, the one that made the older man’s cheeks heat when they were younger. God, had he missed that smile.

And without warning, Greg closed the distance between them, arms immediately wrapping tight around the younger man. He didn’t care that they were in public. He didn’t care that people were starting to stare at the two of them. All he cared about was that Mycroft was there. After more than a decade, he was finally there.

When Greg felt Mycroft’s arms wound around his waist, his arms tightened around him. He can’t believe this.

“Why…?”

“Mm?”

“Why didn’t you come back…?” he mumbled quietly, voice muffled against the younger man’s neck.

When he pulled back to look Mycroft in the eye, he was looking down, unable to meet Greg’s gaze. “Might…might I speak with you in private…?” he asked softly, and Greg nodded.

They entered Greg’s office together, Greg immediately avoiding Sherlock’s gaze when he raised his brow, and then ignoring Sally’s questioning look.

“You are free to go, brother mine,” Mycroft said, a fake smile on his face.

Sherlock just scowled at Mycroft before storming off, but Greg grabbed him behind the collar before he could get away. “Remember,” he warned the younger man, “Get clean, and then you can help. Alright?”

The younger Holmes rolled his eyes but nodded. As soon as Greg let him go, he rushed out of the room. Greg looked at Sally, who was watching the whole thing with narrowed eyes, and cleared his throat.  She got the clue and went out of the room, leaving Mycroft and Greg alone.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So…” Greg murmured, shuffling awkwardly on his feet, arms crossed over his chest and looking down at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” the younger man blurted out, his face flushed.

Greg blinked slowly before nodding. “Alright…” he said softly, “Apology accepted, I guess…um,” he looked up at Mycroft, “What’d you apologise for…?” he asked, warm gaze fixed on Mycroft.

It was Mycroft’s turn to shift his gaze. “For not coming back right after uni…” he murmured, “I promised I would…yet…” his voice trailed off, an expression of guilt on his face. “I’m just…I apologise…”

“I told you,” Greg sighed moving towards Mycroft, his hand landing gently on his shoulder, “Apology accepted. But…I’d still like to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you didn’t come back.”

Mycroft stilled a moment, his head turning to look at Greg. He swallowed thickly before speaking, “I…I thought that leaving you would help me.”

A frown tugged on Greg’s lips at the younger man’s words. “Help you?” he asked incredulously, “Help you how?”

The taller man stayed silent for a while, appearing as if he was trying to gather his words. “I was…distracted. By you.” His cheeks flushed as the words left his mouth, but he continued, “I couldn’t get you out of my mind as I went through my uni years. I missed you…day after day, I wanted to come back and see you…but…” he let out a deep sigh, “I had…plans…and…” he hesitated before speaking again, “As taught to all Holmeses,” he murmured, looking down again, not wanting to look Greg in the eye, “If there’s something distracting you from your goals…leave it behind. Caring is not an advantage.”

While Mycroft was talking, Greg didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he was blushing like a schoolgirl when Mycroft said that he had missed him and always thought about him. But on the other…his heart sank when he said that he was a distraction.

“Um…” he murmured, “I’m sorry if I’m such a…distraction…”

“You aren’t,” Mycroft sighed.

“But you just said–”

“And I was wrong,” he cut him off.

Greg just stared at the younger man, eyes wide. Mycroft _never_ admitted he was wrong, since, most of the time, he was never wrong. Well. At least not in front of Greg.

The two of them didn’t talk again for a while, the atmosphere thick with awkwardness. Both of them weren’t looking at each other, their faces downcast. When the silence finally became too unbearable, Greg spoke up.

“So…” he cleared his throat, “What now…?” Greg looked up at Mycroft, who did the same when the older man spoke up.

Mycroft’s gaze fell again, appearing to be a bit sheepish as he tried to say something –or at least that’s what Greg thought he looked like. He let out a visible breath, and then looked up at Greg with hopeful eyes. “Might we…” he murmured, “Start over…?”

Well. That wasn’t on the list of things Greg expected to hear the younger man say. And he wasn’t even sure of what that was supposed to mean. When he said just that, Mycroft let out another sigh. A broad grin curled on Greg’s lips; Mycroft always sighed a lot when it was hard for him to say something.

“I…I want to be friends with you again,” he said, cheeks flushed, “To be able to see you, and talk to you…and just…” his voice trailed off, looking back down at his fidgeting hands, “…be with you.”

Another example of one of the things Greg never thought he’d hear Mycroft say. Though, despite that, a warm smile took over his features. He nodded, but as soon as he realised Mycroft didn’t see him, he walked over to him and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

“Yes,” he murmured, his face nuzzled against Mycroft’s neck, “I want that too. Of course I want that too. God Myc,” he  sighed, “You’ve no bloody idea how much I missed you…”

Mycroft pulled back a bit to look at him, his eyes wide. “You missed me? Really?”

Greg had to stop himself from rolling his eyes –and leaning in to kiss the younger man. Because _damn_ ; if Mycroft looked kissable then, he was _definitely_ kissable now. “Of course I missed you, you daft git,” he chuckled, “You’re my best mate.”

“You’ve got poor tastes in friends if you still think I’m your ‘best mate’…” the auburn-haired man mumbled, referring to Greg’s use of the present-tense, and his guilt-party far too obvious for Greg’s tastes.

Greg’s brows furrowed. He cupped Mycroft’s chin, making him look up at him. “Listen here, Myc,” he sighed, “I don’t care if you thought that I was a distraction, or that you didn’t actually plan on coming back. I waited for you. And though I didn’t know it, I still was waiting for you –even when I realised that you probably weren’t coming back.” He looked at the auburn-haired man, his gaze softening. “And you know what? During all that time…I still thought you were my best mate. And you still are.”

Well. Mycroft definitely didn’t know what to say to that, and that just made Greg grin. He made Mycroft Holmes  _speechless_. He revelled in that thought, though it didn’t last long.

“I…yes,” he said, which was an utter failure in proper speech, “I-I mean…you too. You’re still my best mate too.”

“Really now?” Greg asked, though he wasn’t surprised; the Holmes brothers were seldom…sociable –even though they swore, drank, and smoked like any other teenager. And even if Mycroft _did_ have friends, they were probably more of acquaintances than friends in his mind. Greg -or so it seemed- was the only exception to that.

The younger man nodded, his cheeks still flushed. “Yes…” he sighed, “Ever since I left for uni…I haven’t let anyone get close to me as much as you did. Because…I thought I would get hurt again. Leaving behind that person after uni and whatnot…”

Greg stayed silent for a moment, just staring at Mycroft as he tried to process what he’d just said. So. They thought the same thing, then. He’s had a fair few friends, yes, but he never let anyone get close as much as Mycroft did. Because when they leave, it won’t hurt as much. He sighed, shaking his head, and wrapped his arms tighter around the younger man.

“Well,” he mumbled, “I promise that I would never leave you, Myc.”

“Really…?” Mycroft asked softly, eyes fixed on Greg’s.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “Yes.”

An idiotic grin curled on Mycroft’s lips, and Greg couldn’t help but match it with his own. They were finally together again.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“What?”

Mycroft startled out of his thoughts, his cheeks flushing when he realised Greg caught him staring at him. “Um…”

“There something on my face?” Greg asked as he rubbed at his face, trying to get whatever it was off his face.

It’s been a month since their reunion, the two occasionally hanging out at Greg’s house whenever their days off aligned. Today was one of those days.

Mycroft was sprawled out on the older man’s sofa, his back against the armrest and his feet propped up on Greg’s lap. He's been staring absently at Greg for a few minutes now as the older man did something on his phone, still wondering how he was lucky enough to still be friends with the silver-haired man, despite not seeing him for more than a decade.

“Um…no,” he smiled sheepishly, “I was just thinking. I had not noticed that I was staring,” he lied, “Apologies if it made you uncomfortable…”

“S’alright,” Greg smiled, but it was quickly replaced by a smirk. “It’s understandable that you were staring at me. I’m far too sexy not to look at,” he grinned.

The younger man couldn’t help but chuckle at Greg’s words. “I’d rather not comment on that,” he chuckled, and then paused for a moment before adding softly, “Though…that wasn’t the reason why I have been staring at you.”

“Then what is it?” asked the silver-haired man, his eyes wandering over Mycroft’s face.

“Just…” Mycroft sighed softly, “I still can’t believe how lucky I am…”

Greg blinked at Mycroft, tilting his head to the side. Elaborate.

Mycroft shook his head, smiling. “Gregory…why did you wait for me…?” he asked softly, “After all these years…you could’ve just moved on and forgot about me. But you didn’t,” he paused a moment, fixing his warm gaze on Greg. “Why…?”

As always, Greg didn’t know how to respond to that. He thought for a minute, thinking whether or not if this was his opportunity to tell the younger man about how he felt. ‘ _Maybe,_ ’ he thought, ‘ _Guess I wouldn’t know if I don’t try, right…?_ ’

He let out a long sigh, looking down at his hands, fidgeting with his thumbs. “Because,” he murmured, “You promised that you’d come back.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened slightly. “You still remember that…?” he asked, cheeks flushing at the memory. If Greg didn’t know that that was basically him confessing, he wouldn’t know what to do.

Greg nodded slightly, looking Mycroft over for a few seconds, before he remembered something. “Oh, and because of this,” he said, reaching over the coffee table, pulling open one of the drawers. He eventually pulled out a worn copy of _Half-Blood Prince_ , flipping through the pages.

The auburn-haired man watched Greg with warm eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. If he looked closely at the book, he was pretty sure that that was the one he accidentally left in Greg’s room when they were younger. The notion of Greg keeping the book after all these years…it just made Mycroft inexplicably happy.

“Ah…here it is,” said the older man, startling Mycroft out of his thoughts. He looked down at Greg’s hand to see what he was holding. And as soon as he realised what it was, his face flushed.

Greg looked up at Mycroft as he held up a wilted long-stemmed rose and a card. “I found it in your room when you left,” he murmured, “It didn’t really say who it was addressed to, so…”

“It’s for you.”

Greg’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks instantly covered in a blush. Alright. So the possibility of Mycroft returning his feelings was pretty high now. “I-I see,” he chuckled nervously, “At first I thought…it might have been for someone else–”

“No,” Mycroft shook his head, “It is…definitely for you. I…” his voice trailed off, his gaze shifting up to meet Greg’s as he took one of Greg’s hands in his. “There is no easy way to say this…” he mumbled, squeezing the older man’s hand slightly. “But I fancied… _fancy_ …you,” he let out a heavy sigh, “and…I understand if you don’t reciprocate. I just hope we can still be frien–”

He was immediately cut off by soft lips pressing against his, his pulse skyrocketing as it moved against his own. Okay. _Okay_. Greg was kissing him. On the _lips_. He sighed against Greg’s lips, his hand coming up to rest on the silver-haired man’s cheek.

When they broke apart, Mycroft was breathing heavily, cheeks still flushed red and eyes wide as he stared at Greg. Did that just really happen?

“Have you got any bloody idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” Greg chuckled at Mycroft, who was still staring, mouth agape. He reached up and cupped Mycroft’s cheek, his thumb stroking idly along his cheekbone.

Mycroft got his voice back, and his mind had already stopped whirring because of what happened. A broad, idiotic grin curled on his lips. “Far too long, to be honest,” he smiled as he leaned into Greg’s touch, “I’ve been wanting to tell you that since we were teenagers…”

Greg grinned, leaning forward to kiss Mycroft again. “Well, thank fuck you left that note, yeah?” he said when they broke apart, “Would’ve given up on you if you didn’t.”

“What’s the note got to do with that?’

The older man thought for a moment, before grinning. “It said on your note: ‘ _And I will come again, my Luve, Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile!_. That was basically a confession, now that I think about it.”

Mycroft smiled warmly at his –finally, after more than a decade- lover, kissing him again. “Yes,” he smiled when he drew back. “It was.”

 


End file.
